


The Hunted: What Really Happened during the Hunger Games

by ShanleenKinnJaskey



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: District 14, F/M, Fanon, What Really Happened During the Hunger Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanleenKinnJaskey/pseuds/ShanleenKinnJaskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IT'S STARTED.<br/>EVERYTHING IS FINALLY READY.<br/>AND ALL THAT'S LEFT IS FOR<br/>SOMEONE TO STUMBLE ONTO THE FIRST CLUE.<br/>THEN...<br/>THE TRAP WILL BE LAUNCHED.<br/>THE PREY WILL BECOME THE HUNTERS.<br/>THE SECRETS WILL BE UNLEASHED.<br/>AND<br/>THE<br/>CAPITOL<br/>WILL<br/>FALL.</p><p> </p><p>When Suzanne Collins wrote The Hunger Games, she made a couple of mistakes.<br/>Such as the fact that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark didn't win, their allies Jasmine and Connor Kale did. And that the Kale twins were from District 14, the weapons (and rebel) district.<br/>But there is no District 14, you say. Well guess what? There is. And what the Kale twins started is the reason why Suzanne Collins changed the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

Jasmine Kale, District 14  
District specialty: Weapons (Rebels)  
District partner: Connor Kale  
Quote from the Games: “She may be fire,” Jasmine said, “But I’m ice.”  
Alliance: District 12

I reach up and grab onto the next limb, hoisting my body up. Then I pull my foot up and swing it over the branch. Light, fast, and reasonably strong, I don't have to worry about if most branches will hold me. I spot a really good branch to lookout from on the next tree over and up a little. I grab the branch above me, wrapping my hands around it. I start to swing back and forth, then when I've gathered enough momentum I swing all the way around the branch and launch off of it, flipping through the air to grasp the branch above my destination with my long fingers. Then I swing forward, let go of the branch, and land, cat-like, on my feet.

Snap. My hunter's ears pick up the sound of a boot snapping a twig cleanly in half. My eyes narrow at the sound. Something's wrong, I think. My rebels would never make that much noise. I climb down a few branches and then leap off, landing silently on the ground. I exchange a look with my twin brother Connor, the other co-leader of District 14's Rebel League #13.

I slide my throwing knives out of the sheaths hanging from my belt at my hips. At the same time Connor withdraws his longsword out of its scabbard, Kat, aka Temper, our explosives expert (real name Kathryn, but she will rig an explosive that can melt the skin, and just the skin, off your face if you call her Kathryn) pulls a couple of grenades out of her pocket, and Sage, aka the Doc, our medic, pulls out some syringes with some nasty looking needles on the ends. See? In District 14, even the medics are deadly.

I nod to Connor, my flaming red ponytail swinging around underneath an army green bandanna, and we form up into battle positions, the four of us in a square with our backs together. "Where are the others?" I hiss out of the side of my mouth to Connor, referring to the other eight members of our League that are out on patrol today.  
"No idea," He murmurs back under his breath, his sky blue eyes scanning our surroundings (just like mine), "But I think we can trust Lief and Genesis to take care of it." That was said referring to the captains of the two other patrol groups in the League.

Snap. Again, closer this time. Any possibility of it being our friends vanishes. We all make mistakes once in awhile but two within the space of minutes? That never happens. "Be ready," I warn.

And then the Peacekeepers explode from the trees around us.

 

First casualty: As always, Peacekeeper. I stick a knife in his heart and he's down for the count. So in other words, he's dead. As the newly dead corpse falls and Connor runs another idiotic Peacekeeper through with his sword, the knife is twisted out of my hand to land under the body. Ugh. It's more of a nuisance than anything because I have more left, but it's an unnecessary nuisance at that. I quickly replace the knife with another and while I stick this one through the next idiot to try and cross me I notice that the Peacekeepers can't use their guns in this small a space or they'll risk hitting their own men. Ha. They should have really brought other weapons. I start to think about how stupid it is of the Peacekeepers to try and keep District 14 under control.

First of all, every citizen of the district joins the Academy at the age of four and when they graduate six years later at the age of ten, they know how to creep through the forest without making a sound, make fires, find safe food, kill animals, clean, and cook them, protect themselves, camouflage themselves, and make their own weapons in the case of an emergency and they can't reach the Smith's Hall. Oh yeah, and of course you' re trained until your skills shine in either a specific area of weapons expertise or in four weapons of your choosing.

Second of all, once you've graduated the Academy and now you are officially someone people shouldn't cross, the government puts you in a Rebel League according to your weapons specialty (so each League has a good mix of weapons).

Third of all, everyone knows that District 14 is free of Peacekeepers all year long except for the Reaping and that we citizens of District 14 are very proud of that fact, so it's very dangerous for a squadron of Peacekeepers to land and guaranteed suicide for a Peacekeeper to land by himself.

Fourth, we're deadly accurate, quick, flexible, and strong.

So in summary, WE KICK PEACEKEEPER BUTT.

But I digress.

So all of this is running through my head as I fight, dodging blows, landing some of my own, and keeping track of the numbers on both sides. I soon notice something. The Peacekeepers, unlike us rebels, aren't trying to kill the enemy. They're trying to encircle and surround us, not kill us. I groan and almost slap myself as I remember what tomorrow is: The Reaping. I should never have stayed where we are. I should have had us sneak away because even though the #1 Rebel Code is to never lose a chance to give the Peacekeepers what's coming to them, that Code has fine print: Disregard this if you want in the week before The Reaping. We all know the risks of being a rebel but I'm not supposed to purposefully lead us into being captured by the Peacekeepers because we all know what capture means…

Then, suddenly, all the fighting stops. I look up from a fight I was having on the ground with a Peacekeeper that I had just ended by sticking a throwing star in him to find a Peacekeeper holding Kat by her chestnut brown braid with a knife to her throat. I gasp and then swallow hard, my throat dry. "Drop your weapons," A deep, rough voice filters up through the helmet of the man holding Kat. My bow and quiver hit the ground next to the throwing star I was holding as it clangs against Connor's double- bladed axe (his long sword is stuck in a Peacekeeper a few yards away from us) and Sage's last syringe and his scalpels.

"That's all of the weapons," I say, glaring at the Peacekeeper holding Kat, all the while feeling the weight of my nunchucks in a hidden pocket sewn into my pant leg and a slight nick as the throwing knife hidden up my sleeve presses against my forearm.

"I know you, District 14s!" The Peacekeeper roars, "You have more weapons, I know it! Get them all out or I'll kill her!" He presses his knife against her neck and a trickle of blood runs down her neck.

I drop my gaze from Kat's eyes, knowing she would rather die than for us to have to do you-know-what. I tilt my sleeve forward and let the knife slide out as I pull out my nunchuks with my other hand. Sage slides his pack off of his back and onto the ground and pulls a bunch of different kinds of sharp-ended medical instruments from pockets in his clothing and lets them fall onto the pile. Connor drops his darts and blowgun on the ground, then pulls his knives out of various places on his body and drops them to the ground where they join the rest of the weapons. The last knife slides through his fingers and digs itself point first into the ground, causing some of the Peacekeepers to jump back.

"What do you want?" I ask, a slightly desperate edge to my voice. Everyone knows a District 14er without her weapons feels weak. Or so that's the rumor we spread to the other districts. We're skilled in hand-to-hand combat as well as weaponry but the desperateness in my voice isn't fake. The Peacekeepers have guns, which still wouldn't bother me normally, but one false move and Kat's dead.

"You know what we want," The same Peacekeeper says, "Tomorrow's the Reaping..." He allows his voice to trail off, making the chuckling and laughing of the other Peacekeepers ominously loud.

I lock eyes with Connor and his eyes ask a silent question. I nod, and we step toward together. Then we speak the dreaded words, the oath that cannot be broken, something that just an hour ago I was sure I'd never have to say. "If you release the members of our League and promise not to do anything to them, we shall go into the Hunger Games as the tributes of District 14."

Then the Peacekeeper holding Kat's hair releases her. "You are bound to oblige by your oath. Congrats, you are now the tributes of District 14."

But as he turns away to head back to the Peacekeepers' hovercraft, his body language dismissive, I catch a glimpse of his eyes through his mask. They look at Connor and me apologetically, as if wanting our forgiveness.

I'm shocked, but only for a moment as I'm engulfed by the enormity of our situation. I'm going into the Hunger Games. Technically, there's a possibility that someone might volunteer for me, but let's face it. In District 14, we're convinced that the Gamemakers set the Hunger Games up exactly so the odds are specifically not in our favor, so no one will volunteer. Call us paranoid, but in the country of Panem, you have to be to survive. Connor and I are definitely going to be tributes in this year's Hunger Games. And we're gonna be dead by the end of the second day.

The Peacekeepers are gone. Overwhelmed by shock and despair, I fall to my knees, my face cupped in my hands, and for the first time since my parents died ten years ago I cry, hot fat tears welling up in my eyes, falling fast and in huge waves down my cheeks.

 

Hedge Calloway, District 10  
District specialty: Livestock  
District partner: Shale Halifax  
Alliance: No one, then later District 14

 

I open my eyes groggily. I peel off my threadbare sheet, a heavy feeling weighing down my stomach. Today is the Reaping, a day dreaded by all the people between the ages of twelve and eighteen in the districts of Panem. And now that fearful and worried crowd includes me as my birthday was a week ago. A stab of panic hits me, then starts to fade away as I take a deep breath and let it out. My name is only in there once; I should be more worried for my older sister Delina, she's seventeen and takes the tesserae for her, our mother, our little eight-year-old brother Basil, and me. She has her name in there about twenty-five times by my estimation.

I change quickly into a white (well, it was white when we got it) collared shirt and black pants. They're the nicest clothes I have but they're still plain and faded. Oh well, they'll have to do for my first year. I look over at her. As usual, she's climbed into bed with Basil, who has horrible nightmares and wakes up crying and screaming. The Peacekeepers don't take kindly to all the noise so she calms him down and lays with him until he falls asleep. Normally she's so exhausted she ends up falling asleep next to him. I lean over and give them each a quick kiss on the cheek, then stand up again and gaze at them, comforted by how peaceful they look.

My sister's beautiful, even in her sleep. She's tall, but not too tall, and slender, but not so skinny that she looks like a skeleton, with rich, unmarked, dark brown skin and pretty features. She has high cheekbones, an artfully shaped nose, and long, black eyelashes framing her eyes that bring attention to her sparkling gold irises when she blinks. Her long, straight hair, dark as the starless sky, fans out around her head, free from its braid. Sometimes I still can't believe we're related; how she could be so beautiful and I stuck looking like this, fair-skinned like our father and short like our mother, with wide-set hazel eyes, crazily curly black hair, and a wide-ish nose. At least Basil looks more like Delina (but not in a girlish way).

A horn sounds, loud and booming. My sister stirs, blinking open her eyes. Our eyes lock on each other."Time to get ready," I say, sinking into my role as the man of the household (the role I've occupied since our dad and uncle died in a stampede a year ago) "You know what today is."

She nods. Even though she's five years older than me, she still listens to/respects me as the man of the household (most of the time, at least). "The Reaping," She says, her voice as usual slightly musical.

I nod, then turn and go across the room to where our mother sleeps behind a sheet hanging from the ceiling. I'm going to check to see if she's awake.

 

"Name."

"Hedge Calloway," I reply to the Peacekeeper.

He checks my name off of a list. He points toward a section of the crowd full of boys my age, some of them neighbors and classmates. "That way," he says. I follow his finger to stand next to Buzz, a friend from school. He has the same trademark Districts 10 and 11 dark brown skin as Delina does, but the hazel eyes of the merchants like me.

"Hey, Buzz," I whisper out of the side of my mouth, searching for my sister. Ah, there she is! Well, I think I can see her dark head in the older girls' section. Basil and our mother should be in the back with all the mothers and younger kids.

Buzz has just enough time to say, "Hi, Hedge," before the murmur of the crowd ceases as Gretha, the Capitol woman who 'reaps' the names comes through the huge Town Hall main doors with four Peacekeepers in tow. As they station themselves around the platform, I take in her appearance.

Gretha has on a silver dress with a tight top, poofy sleeves, and a skirt that looks like a cloud that's been dyed silver. She has skin with just a small tint of pink to it so it looks like her whole body is blushing and she is wearing a pair of red sequined high heels. She has a fluffy light pink wig on and a pair of HUGE dangly silver-and-red-stones (I think they're called rubies) earrings that reach her shoulders. I wrinkle up my nose at the her appearance, a expression of disgust twisting my lips. The dress she wears would, just by it self, feed my family, Buzz's family, and probably three other families for a month. And don't even get me started on those earrings…

"Hello, everyone!" She says, her voice layered with one of those ridiculous high-pitched Capitol accent. To our credit, we just stare at her, not responding. She clears her throat. "Now we have a video so generously given to us by our wonderful Capitol!" She turns to one of the gigantic screens displaying the Capitol's insignia. A video plays, talking about how wonderful the Hunger Games and the Capitol are, etc., etc., etc. It makes me want to throw up, how sick and twisted it all is.  
Then it ends (thank goodness) and Gretha, smiling like she's just seen the best thing in the world, says into the microphone, "Oh, I love that video!" When she's greeted by nothing but hostile stares, she swallows and says, "Okay, it's time to pick the tributes. And remember, may the odds be ever your favor! Ladies first!" She pauses before walking over to the globe holding the girls' names, glancing at the crowd as if wanting a reaction. She receives none.

Gretha stops at the globe, reaches in, and plucks out a slip of paper. She unfolds it, her bright red fingernails clearly visible on the close-up shown on screen that displayed the Capitol video. Then she walks over to the microphone and unfolds the slip of paper. "Shale Halifax!" She announces loudly. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. Not Delina, I think, thank goodness. I feel slightly guilty for thinking that. It was someone else's sister chosen, someone's daughter.

A medium-sized girl steps out of the seventeen-year-old section of the crowd of girls. Her face is stone-like, a mask. You can hear a pin drop, the only movement the breeze that tosses around her loose black curls and faded blue dress. I can't really see what color her eyes are from here but I can see their glint against her dark brown skin. She walks solemnly up to the platform to stand next to Gretha.

"Congratulations!" Gretha says. The girl, Shale is her name, gives Gretha a jerky nod. For just a moment Gretha purses her lips and then bursts back into her impossibly wide, blindingly white smile. "Boys next!" She calls into the microphone, then walks over and reaches into the globe full of boys' names. I clench and unclench my teeth, letting out a long, slow breath.

Gretha plucks out a folded slip of paper and walks over to the microphone. She unfolds the paper and clears her throat. Then she says the words I've been dreading, but have been sure would never be uttered by her lips.  
"Hedge Calloway!"

My head feels like it is full of cotton balls, I taste bile in my throat, and where is that ringing I hear coming from? Buzz and the boys around me take a step back as if I have some kind of contagious disease. As I turn towards the boys leading to the center aisle and start to walk they separate to two sides, giving me a clear pathway to the center. I reach the center aisle and turn towards the platform, staring straight ahead, not allowing myself to betray emotion. I do not look in Delina's direction because I know I will not be able to contain my tears if I see her face.  
I reach the steps to the platform and grip the railing, every step I take moving me toward my certain demise. I reach the platform and trudge up to stand opposite Shale on Gretha's other side. "Congratulations!" Gretha says to us, "Now shake hands, you guys!"

I stare into Shale's intelligent stormy gray eyes. I might have to kill you in a few days, I think, why should I shake hands with you? Yet I still bring up my hand to shake, and as I stare into her gray eyes, I get the feeling that if one of us is going to kill the other, it will be my unseeing body lying on ground afterward.


	2. Fire, Secrets, Armor, and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the Reaping to the Tribute Parade-  
> One tribute has a secret she'll die before letting the Gamekeepers know about.  
> Another is ready to kick butt in the Games.  
> And the third is in love with his fellow tribute, and is willing to do anything for her.

Rowan Grey, District 9  
District specialty: Grain  
District partner: Hunter Fox  
Alliance:

"Promise me you'll win," my little sister Abbegayle says forcefully, tears welling up in her eyes. I hesitate. "Promise me, Rowan!"  
"I promise, Abby." I swear, staring into her wet forest green eyes. They mirror what I think mine must look like; green irises, wet with tears yet stubborn despite all circumstances. We get that from our late Ma; without it we both would have broken a long time ago.  
I scoop her up in my arms, hugging her small seven-year-old body to my tall fifteen-year-old one. I run my fingers through her hair, calming her down. "Remember where to find food, okay, Abby?" I say, referring to the trapdoor in our floor that leads to a room full of canned and dried food. "You can always find what you need there. Jay will help you with meat problems and you can help Pa collect supplies for the bakery." Jay's our older brother.  
"Okay, Rowan." She says. She pulls away from my shoulder and looks at me, her eyes full of understanding. She has seen far too much for someone of her age; she is losing her childhood far too quickly for my taste.  
She jumps down from my arms and lands on her feet. I look at our Pa. "You heard what I just said," I say softly, afraid to upset him. He's been very fragile since Ma's death, jumping at the smallest noises and crying a lot. I'm afraid something will easily end up pushing him over the edge. "You know where to find food and water; you know how to survive."  
To my surprise, he responds, speaking softly. "Yes, I do. I'm so sorry about how I've been acting since Holly (that's Ma) died. I'll do my best to help Rowan and Jay."  
I do my best not to crow with joy. Pa hasn't spoken since Ma died a couple months back, and that he's speaking in complete sentences without any crazed grieving look in his eyes is amazing. There might just be hope for him yet! I mean, sure, it took my almost imminent death to revive him, but still I'm happy for him.  
"I love you, dad. It's okay, there's no need to apologize," I reply. Pa looks like he wants to say something, but he purses his lips and nods.  
"Five minutes are up." The Peacekeeper outside the door says, stepping in. He gestures for Abby and Pa to leave. They turn and follow him.  
"Love you, Abby! Love you, Pa! I'll win, I promise!" I shout after their retreating forms.  
"Alright," the Peacekeeper says, "Follow me, Miss Grey. It's time to go." I swallow hard and stand up, rubbing my sweaty palms on my black skirt. Then I follow him out the door to the train, my chestnut colored curls swinging along in my ponytail behind me.  
I sit in a plush armchair on the train, my fingernails digging into the fabric of the armrest. I don't allow myself to get comfortable, always scanning the train for a chance. A chance for what, I'm not exactly sure, but I'm still keeping an eye out for it. I'm sitting next to Hunter Fox, the boy tribute from my district. Hunter is short with messy black hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. He looks more like someone from District 3 than District 9 in my opinion. Across from Hunter sits our mentor, the victor of the 61st Hunger Games: Jupiter Paige. He's about thirty years old, having won when he was seventeen, but his hazel eyes have the guarded look of someone much older. His gold hair is cut in a buzz, light freckles dominate his tanned face, and his arms and legs, while showing some muscle, are kind of skinny. For a moment I allow myself to wonder how he won his Games; I was only two when it happened so I can't remember the details. Next to him and across from me sits Amelie, the woman who does our District's Reaping.  
She isn't as extravagant and bizzare as most people from the Capitol. She has rich, dark brown skin like the people of Districts 10 and 11 and long, luscious, wavy black hair that falls over her shoulders and tumbles over her back, reaching all the way to the bottom of her ribcage. She's wearing a simple white knee-length strapless dress that glows against her dark skin with a loose skirt held at the middle by a wide gold belt. She wears gold flats on her feet. The only difference in her skin-tattoo, color, or piercing wise- is pierced ears dangling with small gold hoops and gold eyeliner. The earrings are also her only jewelry. Amelie looks to be in her mid-to-late twenties and she's only been doing the Reaping for a few years now. I think she actually could be considered pretty in the districts, not ugly or grotesque like most Capitol people.  
"Well, aren't we all looking so happy!" She says, her voice layered with a ridiculous high-pitched Capitol accent. However, the accent sounds not exactly right. It kind of sounds like when one of us in District 9 makes fun of the Capitol's stupid accents. She sees Hunter and I's annoyed looks, then leans forward and unexpectedly says,"Okay, it's just us four unless we call in a servant. Do you mind if I drop the stupid accent?"  
I'm so startled I actually stammer out, "Yeah, sure, it doesn't matter to me," before thinking.  
She nods. "Thanks," she says, her accent extremely lessened, now just barely there, "Now, let's start this over from a fresh slate. No preconceived notions of evil intention, okay?"She pauses and we mutter our agreement. Then she continues, "Alright, anything you want me to know about you? Remember, all that is said here stays here. You can tell the rest of us whatever you want, we swear we won't tell, right?" We all quickly swear not to speak of this conversation to anyone else. "Okay," she says, "Rowan, anything you want to tell us about, any advantages you might have?"  
I frown and start to shake my head, but then think of something and stop myself. "No- wait, there is one thing. I think I'd better show you instead of tell you. But no speaking of this to anyone else, okay?" They all nod. "Then here it is."  
I unclench my hands from the armrests and place them together, steeple fashion. Then I turn them so the fingertips are facing out towards Amelie and slowly unfold them, the the sides of the hands closest together still touching.  
A pins-and-needles feeling races through my hands and a moment later, red hot curls of flame dance across my palms and fingers. Then I separate my hands and cup them, the curls of flame changing shape into mini fireballs. I snap my fingers and the flames disappear, extinguished.  
"Well, that certainly changes things," Jupiter Paige says, the first one to stop gaping and speak.

Genevieve Lain, District 8  
District specialty: Textiles  
District partner: Ridge Greenhorn  
Alliance:

I am escorted to a room where they rip all the hair off of my arms, legs, and body and then bathe me in something foul-smelling and thick that stings like the hornets under the house. Eventually, after much plucking and waxing (in which I feel like a freshly killed grouse getting all the feathers plucked out) I'm taken to another room where I sit on a hard metal bed (if you could even call it that) clad in nothing but a thin blue shift. I perch on the edge, cold and stinging all over, waiting for my stylist to come and get me dressed up in some embarrassing costume.  
Eventually she comes out; she has honey blonde hair cut short in a line along her chin, sky blue eyes framed by long black eyelashes, and pink rosebud lips. Her skin is kind of pale but looks nice, not sickly, considering the rest of her coloring. She wears a sky blue knee-length dress over top of a pair of black leggings that tuck into black combat boots. Over top of her dress she wears a black leather jacket with sleeves that end slightly below her elbows. She has a small tattoo on her wrist; it looks like a number 9. She also has a small scar above her lip that disappears when she smiles.  
"Hello, Genevieve," She says, "My name's Regina. I'm your stylist."  
"So you're here to make me look pretty?" I respond.  
She chuckles. "Genevieve, you're already pretty. I'm here to take that and make you look memorable."  
I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the wall; at my olive skin, loose, wavy, dark brown hair, and features that carry District 8's sculpted look to them. I look straight into the reflection of my dark brown eyes for a moment, then turn back to look at Regina. "You think I'm pretty?" I ask, surprised.  
She chuckles again, smiling. "Of course, sweetie. 'Specially when you smile." I smile tentatively. Her smile widens into a grin. "Now we've got to get you into your parade outfit or you're gonna end up going like that." She gestures at what I'm wearing.  
My smile fades, remembering what our District's tributes have worn in years past. "What're you gonna make us wear?" I ask.  
Her smile turns devious. "You'll just have to wait and see," she says.  
Regina goes out and grabs a huge bag from outside of the room. Then she comes back in, goes over to the other side of the room, and opens up a door that leads into a brightly lit room. She gestures for me to enter, holding the door open. I step over the threshold, murmuring, "Thank you," as I pass her. She nods, smiling back, then follows me through and closes the door behind.  
She positions me in front of a mirror and says, "Okay, take off your shift and close your eyes. I want you to only see this when I'm done, okay?" I obediently unbutton my shift, let it drop to the floor, and step out. Then I close my eyes.  
She tells me to raise my arms into the air and to work their way into the sleeves of the dress she's pulling down over me. Already, I can tell it will be wonderful as the fabric is as soft and as light as a feather. Then she tells me to lower my arms to my sides and as I do I can feel that the dress is cap-sleeved. I can also feel the skirt stop at my knees. Then she hands me a pair of leggings and tells me to slip them on. I have practice putting clothes on in the pitch black dark; I used to do it everyday before making my way to the textile factory. I slip those on easily and then Regina tells me to lift my right foot; she's going to put my shoes on. I do so and feel as she pulls on what I can feel is a boot made out of soft, supple leather. Then we do the same thing with my other foot. I feel her place something gently in my hair. Last but not least, she puts some makeup on my face. "Okay, Genevieve," she says, "You can open your eyes!" I do, and I gasp when I see my reflection in the mirror.  
I wear a shiny dress that looks like armor; it looks like it's been made out of thousands of little pieces of multicolored metal that somehow blend to create one single, mind-warping color, but it's actually thousands of shiny fabric samples from District 8's textile industry's factories. The shoulder plates are made up of many pieces so small they look like one piece of metal. The leggings are the same; they look like armor as well and the shoes look like actual metal armored boots. And on top of my hair Regina placed a tiara but contrary to what you might think it actually adds to the impressiveness of the outfit-it doesn't make me look girly- it seems to say "Hey! I'm rich and powerful and I have armor AND I can kick your butt, so don't mess with me." My face is somewhat dramatic: normal color but shiny lips, a little blush, and perfectly done silver eyeshadow and midnight black eyeliner that really bring out my eyes.  
"So how do you like it?" Regina asks me.  
"It's awesome! Just what I need, in my opinion." I smile broadly, showing my pearly white teeth.  
"Good. Because the parade's starting in an hour and I've heard rumors that Districts 12 & 14 have thought up something great for it."

Ash Randolph, District 7  
District specialty: Lumber  
District partner: Hazel Yilmaz  
Alliance:

I climb into the chariot hating my life. Once again my District is dressed as stinking trees. Trees are great, I guess, but do we really have to dress as them?  
Hazel Yilmaz climbs on next to me. I'm sorry that her younger sister was Reaped, I really am, and not just because Hazel knows how to wield an ax like nobody's business. Hazel has four younger siblings and two older ones who depend on her. Her eldest sister is a cripple and and her youngest brother has some kind of condition that has him constantly coughing, sometimes so bad that he hacks up blood. Hazel had to volunteer for her siblings; she can't bear to see them suffer. If she dies, there won't be enough money to support them. Only her mom, a seamstress who mends others' clothing, her dad, a lumberman, and her older brother, another lumberman, work in her family. No one else is old enough yet. But if she wins, her siblings can get the treatment they desperately need. If having to dress up as a tree is the price of a cure for her siblings, then she'll gladly put up with it.  
I quietly slip my hand into hers. "It'll be okay, Hazel," I say, "You'll win. I know it." I give her a gentle kiss on the cheek, making sure no one can see. As I turn away to look forward again, still holding Hazel's hand, I spot a tear leak out of the corner of Hazel's eye and fall onto one of her leaves.  
The other reason I'm sorry Hazel's little sister's name was reaped and that Hazel volunteered? Hazel's my girlfriend, and since only one of us can live, I'm going to make sure that she's the one who does.  
The chariots line up and District 1 heads out, waving to the crowd. Hazel wipes the tear from her cheek. "We're holding hands. Got that, Ash? I'm not letting go of you just yet," she says fiercely. I grin, nodding. It's much better to have her stubbornly bossing me around than to have her all weepy.  
It's our turn to go out. Some of the the more interesting costumes I've noticed so far that have already gone out include the girl from District 3. Her hair is in bun with copper netting & lights knotted in and she's wearing dangly earrings and necklace made of tiny lights and thin silver wire. She wears a golden skirt with copper wire mesh overtop and tiny lights lining the neckline, waist, and hem. Another interesting one in front of me is the girl from District 4 (I think her name is Faith) whose dress looks like a frozen waterfall yet moves like liquid water around her legs. Behind us is District 8 with cool textile armor. I sigh. It seems like everyone but us has cool costumes. Right before we go out, a burst of light behind us catches my eye. I whip around and find District 12 on fire; I'm still gaping as we roll out.  
I try to compose myself and smile as Hazel and I emerge into the grand hall filled with screaming Capitol citizens. Hazel squeezes my hand in reassurance and although I'm extremely nauseous from the sight of the disgustingly bizarre looking Capitol citizens, I no longer find it so hard to smile. At least I'll have Hazel by my side in the days before I meet my end.  
As we curve around into a circle with the other chariots, I notice the costumes of the other Districts behind us. The tributes from District 14 are wearing bird-like armor-helmets shaped like bird heads with beaks, wings attached to their backs, metal feathers instead of plating- and have weapons in their hands and strapped across their backs (a bow and quiver for the girl and an ax for the boy), but the weapons are probably-no, definitely- fake as the Gamemakers and Peacekeepers would never allow District 14 to have weapons in a room filled with unarmed Capitol citizens. The tributes from District 12, as I mentioned before, are in black jumpsuits and are on fire. District 11 is in overalls with weird halo-like things hovering over their heads, and 10’s tributes are dressed up as a cow and a horse (poor guys)


End file.
